How Do I Begin Again?
by jodianne87
Summary: Without thinking, he reached up to brush her cheek with his hand, hope flaring even brighter in his chest when she leaned infinitesimally into his touch, her eyes closing on an exhale." My take on the 100th episode. Spoilers through the season finale.


AN: This is my first story. Hope it was worth it, and that you all enjoy it. I thought that the 100th episode was tragic, but perfect at the same time, and it set B&B up for the kind of resolution that they deserve. It won't look anything like mine, but I thought this would be a satisfying way to handle things.

There are spoilers, so beware. Also, this is not beta-ed, but I do proof-read.

Also, I don't own the show, or any of the quotes or songs that are in the story. I just thought they fit very well with Booth and Brennan and the direction I was taking things.

* * *

_You hold me without touch. You keep me without chains. I never wanted anything so much than to drown in your love and not feel your rain._

"Gravity"—Sara Bareilles

* * *

"_I gotta move on…"_

"_I know."_

It had been just over four months since that one night, and both of their lives were mostly the same, and somehow completely different than before. They worked together, but everything seemed less stable, like it could all just end in tears. Every case, every meal, every conversation.

Booth sat at his desk and read the paperwork lying there warily. He'd heard rumors about Brennan going away, and the prospect made the offer before him somehow more tantalizing. Though he claimed to be moving on, and had even dated the lovely and talented Dr. Klein for a few weeks, he knew that he would never really move on, and he felt like pretty much everyone else in his life knew it too.

Cam had been alternating between pitying looks and frustrated ones since that night, but she had remained silent. He didn't know what—if anything—she knew. But one moment, her sympathetic looks told him one thing, and minutes later, he felt something completely different from her. An _I'm sorry big guy, you don't deserve whatever this is _wasquickly followed by a _why are you such a stubborn jackass? Fix it!_ It was unnerving and more than a little upsetting, but Cam was one of his oldest friends, and he knew she only meant well. Booth knew he couldn't afford to estrange any more of his friends, and so he didn't argue with her—or confide in her. Cam was never afraid to call his bullshit.

Angela was a different story—he knew she knew, and he avoided her like the plague to avoid discussing it. His childhood had always been the pariah topic in his life, but it looked to have a quickly rising challenger. Angela's looks weren't subtle, like Cam's or confused, like poor Hodgins', or shielded like Brennan's. He knew exactly what she was thinking when he caught her watching him—she knew what he had risked, and what he had lost, and she understood the pain. Angela, the artist, was always more sensitive about the heart than anyone really gave her credit for. That was why he avoided her so fastidiously—if there was one person who could incite the urge to cry with a simple, single look—_other than Brennan_, his inner voice though—it would be Angela. If he ever found the strength to _talk_ about it, Booth thought he would go to her.

Of course, his first choice would have been Brennan—he called her that now; _Bones_ was too personal, too them, just too much—but that clearly wasn't an option. And being around her was too painful. More than that, existing in the safe, happy life that the two of them had unwittingly carved out in the lab, at the Hoover building, both of their apartments, the diner, the Founding Fathers, Wong Foo's was too painful. Even without her there—a physical blow he wasn't ready to stomach anyway—seeing the places that they had been together but not _together_ broke his heart a little more every day. Maybe, just this once, Brennan had the right idea, and leaving was the best option—_the only option_, the cynical voice in his conscience piped in.

A knock on his office door pulled him from his thoughts, and he looked up expecting to see one of the other agents or a tech with work business. Instead, he was surprised to see Angela standing there, her expressive brown eyes pinning him to his seat. _Dammit_, he thought. _ I thought I might have gotten away without having this conversation._ No such luck, apparently.

"Hey, Angela. What's up?" Even to his own ears, his voice sounded thin and tired—the natural exuberance he had always demonstrated gone. He knew perfectly well that he looked just as bad—a little frayed around the edges, pain in his eyes, but really nothing that stress and aging wouldn't explain should anyone on the outside of the situation inquire. Angela came all the way into the room and quietly pulled the door shut behind her, turning to look at him with serious eyes, and thin-set mouth.

"I assume you've heard about Bren considering leaving." It wasn't really a question, just a statement of fact, and Booth heaved a sigh. This conversation was going to go exactly where he didn't want it to.

"You assume correctly, Ange. Why do you want to know?" Booth saw something flash in her eyes that looked an awful lot like the anger that he occasionally saw in his own.

"You can't just let her go, Booth. You have to try and stop her."

"Angela—" he started, weary but needing to let go of this. Before she interrupted, Booth saw the anger flash again, mixed with panic and frustration, and he thought that maybe, just maybe, Angela knew better than he thought what was going on.

"No, listen to me Booth. She hasn't made up her mind yet, she still might stay. If you talk to her, tell her **you** want her to stay, she will. She cares about you, and she knows that she's hurt you, and it kills her. If you tell her that this will hurt you more—and you know it will—she won't go, and you two will have another chance to fix this…mess that you've created together. Please, Booth, just… don't give up on her. Not yet." Angela's eyes were brimming over with tears, and Booth knew that seeing her best friend in the kind of pain that he knew Brennan was experiencing really did hurt her, but he had to make her understand. When he responded, his voice was quiet and resigned.

"Angela, I can't. I know that you may have these ideas about me and her, but all that is done now. I can't be the one to do this for her anymore. If she needs to go, then I have to let her. We aren't going to get another chance. It's not me giving up on a fight I can win—this is me owning up to reality. It's over." His voice caught on the last phrase, and the pain that ripped through him tore open the barely closed wounds, but he held it together.

"Booth, don't say that. You know she loves you! She just… she needs more time." Angela's pleading tore through him—an upset woman always appealed to his baser instincts, but he couldn't rescue this one.

"I do know that she loves me. But I also know that she doesn't think she can be the one person that I need. Nothing I say or do will convince her otherwise if she hasn't already figured it out, and I can't give her more time. The two of us circling each other like this, it's not healthy, and we have to give it up. If this is the way she wants to do that, so be it."

"But Booth—"

"No, Angela. Please, can't you just leave it be? Please. I am begging you. Everyone wants me to fix this. Everyone thinks that I have the answers. But I don't—not anymore." He ran his hands through his hair. "_Goddamnit."_ Angela flinched at the uncharacteristic obscenity, but Booth didn't notice, and his voice only grew in desperation and grief as he continued. "Can't you all see that this is killing me? Can't you see that every day I have to see her, and be her friend, and pretend to move on, and watch her try to do the same pulls a little piece of my soul out of me? For God's sake, Ange—I told her I wanted this, I put it all on the line, and she refused. I can't make her hurt go away because I have to take care of my own. She rejected me, and everyone expects me to be the good guy. It's killing me not to. You think every time I see her with those dark circles under her eyes, and baggy clothes because she hasn't been eating or sleeping that it doesn't make me want to take her home and take care of her, hold her until she lets me in? You think that that hollow look in her eyes doesn't make me remember that _I'm _the one that did that? I know that! Those new lines on her face from worry, and sadness, and grief—that's my fault. I knew better, but I gambled. And now, well, now it's out there, and for once, I can't make her better."

Angela just stared at him, eyes shining with tears, and empathy. Booth shook his head, weariness and defeat taking the fight out of him.

"For once in my life, Angela, I have to take care of me, and let her take care of her. I _need_ to be selfish, just this once. Because going on this way—both of us hurting ourselves, and bringing guilt on the other—it isn't good. And if I try to help her, it's only going to get worse." He paused, looking out towards the bullpen for a moment. "If there's any hope, it has to come from her. She has to take the risk this time. I can't guarantee that I'll always be there to take it with her, but if she does it soon, it might not be too late for us. Or maybe we really did miss our chance. I don't know anymore."

Booth sighed, and his eyes were drawn again to the sheaf of papers in front of him. He looked up to find Angela watching him, crying now, and nodding.

"I understand, Booth. Really, I get it. And I get that she has to get there on her own, so I won't tell her anything. But how long can you wait? Realistically, how long can you put yourself through this?"

"I'm not waiting on purpose, Ange. But it'll take time before I can stop loving her with all my heart. I have to force her into a corner of my heart and seal it off. If she gets to me before I do, then maybe we'll have a chance. I don't even know that anymore." Booth scrubbed a hand down his face, and let out yet another sigh.

"But we may both be taking some time off from our work." Angela shot him a questioning look, nervousness underlying the fake calm on her face. He answered her unspoken question.

"The Rangers are trying to get me to go and do training for new recruits to the program. I'm seriously considering it." Angela gaped at him for a moment, and then abruptly closed her mouth.

"You have to tell her. Despite everything, you cannot just leave her—you know what that'll do to her." He huffed a scornful, humorless laugh.

"Of course I'll tell her. I don't want to hurt her."

"Okay, well, just thought I'd throw it out there." There was semi-uncomfortable pause, and Angela rose from the chair she'd sunk into at some point. "I need to get back to the lab. I'll see you around?" The goodbye was tentative, and Booth smiled despite himself.

"Yeah, I can't seem to stay away from you squints," he replied, and Angela nodded with a small smile of her own as she headed for the door, barely hearing the end of the sentence… "Even if I know how much it's going to hurt."

* * *

"Love's a song to sing but love walks out when you walk in  
Home to the place I can't remember living in...

We need to make some water, but we're all too tired to cry."

"Monoplain"--Susan Enan

* * *

_**One month later**_

Booth had made the decision to take the Army up on its offer independently, and had heard shortly thereafter—from Cam—that Brennan had independently decided to accept the invitation to the long-term dig. The thought of them parting still brought physical pain, but at the same time, Booth knew that distance may be the only answer to their problem. So here he was, in the back of a cab on his way to the airport, ready to report for duty once again—revisiting a chapter of his life he thought had long since passed.

Booth contemplated the decisions that brought him to this point, and knew that he could not change anything. More than that, he believed that, given the choice of redoing that night five months ago, he probably wouldn't have done it differently. Sure, it had ruined the best relationship he'd ever had—perhaps only temporarily—but he believed now that not saying anything would have made everything worse. How much longer would he have been able to bottle up before just unleashing everything on her? He didn't know, and while it may hurt now, Booth had faith that somehow everything would turn out okay. Maybe not in the near future, and maybe not with Brennan, but somehow, his life would get back on track.

"Sir, we're here." The cab driver's voice brought him out of his reverie, and he shook off the memories and paid his fare.

Walking into the terminal carrying only his own bag felt strange somehow—he always picked her up from the airport, or they traveled together to far-off locales for cases. He so rarely carried only his own things that he felt somehow ungrounded without the extra baggage. He snorted to himself. _Interesting thought there, Seeley. The only man in the world who feels strange without extra baggage, and Temperance Brennan does have a lot of that._ He squinted at the direction board to see where his check-in was, and headed in the proper direction.

A good while later, he had finished checking in, though not without some hassle—his weapons required multiple checks, and sets of approval, and he refused to entrust them to others—and headed for the security checkpoint. Reflexively, his eyes scanned the crowd, knowing that once past the metal detectors, there was no coming back, and his heart nearly stopped as he spotted her, leaning against a pillar. Her crystalline eyes were so obviously searching for something, and she seemed to see him in the instant after he noticed her. Their eyes didn't lock, as she warily glanced away, the darting of her eyes making him cautious. Regardless, he couldn't help but approach her. He raised a hand, and she lifted hers in return.

"Brennan." He saw the nearly indiscernible flinch when he called her that, but it had become almost routine these days. He still couldn't bring himself to call her Bones, and she didn't ask him to, seeming to understand.

"Booth." She said his name on an exhale, and almost instantly took a deep breath and began to speak, cutting off any possibility he had of stopping her.

"I'm not going to ask you to stay." She met his eyes bravely, and he knew that she saw the surprise there. "It's not because I don't want to—oh _god_, I want to. The thought of being without you actually physically pains me, even though that's not possible and is completely irrational. It's because I know you need to go." She paused, gathering her thoughts and her breath again, and Booth waited expectantly.

"I know what these months have done to you. People say that I'm distant and don't understand anyone, but I understand pain, and I recognize it. I know that you need to try to gain some distance from… well, everything. Me, I guess. And I respect that. I came here to tell you some things." Booth waited patiently, glad he was extremely early for his flight, and that this conversation wouldn't be rushed.

"I'm not going on the dig. Logically, it is more of an archaeological find than an anthropological one, and my expertise would be better put to use here, at the Jeffersonian. I just thought I should tell you that first.

"Secondly, I know you're not leaving me. I am acutely aware that even after everything we've put each other through, you harbor some groundless guilt that you are leaving me, and going to damage my psyche further. I thought that I would attempt to assuage some of that guilt, and forestall the pain I know you'll inflict on yourself." Her voice was soft, and cracked a little with her next words. "I understand. I know no one else does, but I really do." Booth stared at Brennan, not quite sure what to say at the unspoken admission that others had been talking to her too. Luckily for him, she wasn't done, and she had regained her characteristic confidence.

"I can't make you any promises, Booth, but while you're gone, I plan to do some re-evaluation of my life and habits, and maybe make some changes. Mostly, I think I have this crippling fear that I need to overcome. I'm going to try, and when you come back, I plan to be here to meet you." Booth felt a microscopic flare of hope deep in his chest, but quickly tamped it down. "I can't promise you what I will decide, but I hope to be ready to be with you in whatever way you'll have me then—even if it is only as a work partner. In any case, I can promise you that I will still be here when you get back." Brennan paused, seeming to reflect on some long ago memory.

"Rebecca once shared a philosophy with me that I believed at the time to be senseless, sentimental drivel. Now, I believe that maybe there was some merit to it. She said that people had moments where they either caught fire, or they didn't, and they missed their moment. We have missed so many moments, and we have used the extinguishers ourselves, but I can't help hoping—irrationally—that once more, we can have that chance, and that that time, we won't miss."

Booth was actively fighting back the blooming joy in his chest, knowing that nothing was certain, and knowing that she had the power to break him so easily once again.

"We both need this time apart, Booth. You need to heal, to decide if you can forgive me and give me another chance—even if I don't deserve it. And I have to figure out a lot of things about myself. I need to be able to be me without you now, as hard as it is. I want to take this opportunity to prove to myself that I can survive without you"—her voice caught on the words briefly, and Booth thought she might be holding back sobs—"before I can risk everything with you."

"I understand, Bo— Brennan." Booth moved closer to her, cursing his slip-up, and against every better judgment, he cupped her cheeks in his hands. She softened under his touch, and it took all his considerable willpower to keep from kissing her once more. "I get it. And you're right. We both need this time apart." He leaned his forehead to touch hers gently, closing his eyes against the emotion that laid so exposed in her own. "It's not a question of forgiveness, Brennan. I forgave you the moment you hurt me. I couldn't not forgive you—I love you too much." He felt her gasp more than heard it, and felt the further relaxation of her body towards his. "I just have to…let you be alone for awhile. It's better for both of us."

She nodded, but her words were barely audible. "I know." They stood together for a few long moments, and he knew he would soon have to pull away. But before that, he had to tell her.

"Brennan, _Bones_, if you decide once and for all that you can't do this—can't be _in this_ with me—write me, please, tell me while I have the space to heal a little bit, okay? Please?" He didn't care that he was begging.

Her acquiescence was once again nodded, with the whispered "Okay" that should have gotten lost in the noise of the airport, but somehow seemed like the sound of thunder.

"Booth, there's one more thing." Her voice was timid, for the first time—not nervous or anxious like it had been earlier, but afraid that she would be asking for something she had no right to. Still caught up in the spell of being so close to her for the first time in months, Booth let out a hummed reponse. Her quiet laugh went a long way to calming him down before he felt her deep intake of breath.

"While you're gone, I mean if it's okay with Rebecca, I mean, would you mind if I spent time with Parker?" She rushed onward without waiting for a response. "It's just that he's just such a charming and intelligent child, and he makes me smile, and reminds me of what it is like to have such happiness and joy for the world around you. He just makes me… happier." She stopped abruptly, looking up at him with an unsure look in her eyes, her lower lip caught in between her teeth from anxiety. Booth smiled, knowing that he should fight the feeling, but loving her so much more every time she spoke.

"Brennan, if it's okay with Becca and Parker, it's more than okay with me. Very few things would make me happier." Her answering smile was tentative, but it warmed his heart in the same way that her laugh did.

Soon enough, they had to draw apart, and Booth knew that he had to go, finally. He reached for his bag, and turned away from her, steeling himself for the walk away from the woman that held such amazing power over him. He got about three steps before he calmly turned around, returned to her, and put down his bag. Staring at her intensely for a long moment, finally, he came to a decision.

"Screw it," he muttered under his breath. It was followed by a slightly more audible "I'm sorry," and then his lips were pressing against hers in kiss that was so fast she almost thought she imagined it. But she couldn't have imagined the hard press of his lips, saying things he dared not vocalize. Things like _don't give up on this, _and _I hope you make the right decision_, and _please, choose to love me_. And then he was gone, weaving quickly into the crowd as he left. She waited until she couldn't see him any longer and then left, ready to begin the soul-searching she'd promised.

* * *

"Without your sweet kiss, my soul is lost my friend. Tell me, how do I begin again?"

"My City of Ruins"-Bruce Springsteen

* * *

The next months passed, if not quickly, then steadily for both of them. Brennan worked on remains from Limbo, but she didn't bury herself in the work anymore. She went home at reasonable hours, and she ate regularly. Booth had helped her with those things, but she had always tried to take decent care of herself.

More importantly, Brennan found herself trying to make more connections with people—not dating connections, but friendships. She rediscovered the friendship with Angela that had somehow fallen by the wayside, and the two of them instituted weekly lunches, always to a different restaurant, that excluded any talk of work. After several weeks of enjoyable lunches, Brennan decided to invite Cam out with them. Angela was thrilled with the idea, and soon the three of them became much closer than they might have expected.

Brennan also got drawn into Sweets' wedding plans, which were steadily progressing. Given that Sweets had no surviving family, she felt that he needed someone to talk to sometimes. Daisy tried to include her in the actual wedding, but she refused, on the grounds that they both had friends to fill the roles for them. At least, that was her argument until Sweets approached her with an unconventional request.

"_Dr. Brennan, can I have a word?" He'd seemed somewhat apprehensive, and that worried Brennan a little. Sometimes, she still thought of him as her and Booth's imprinted baby duck._

"_Of course, Sweets. What is it?"_

"_Well, you may not know this, but I had intended to ask Agent Booth to stand up with me at the wedding."_ Another thing that had slowly changed—Booth was no longer a taboo subject. In fact, Brennan often willingly discussed him and the memories she shared with him, amusing anecdotes; anything but progress regarding her decision.

"_I did not know that. I'm sure he'll be flattered and pleased."_

"_Well, I'm not sure when he is going to be back, and I don't think he knows either, so I'm concerned that he won't be back in time for the big day. So, in case that happens, I have a request for you." She had waited patiently, but still hadn't expected what Sweets said next._

"_I'd like you to stand up with me if Booth can't be here. I know it's unconventional, but there's no one that I would like to have as part of my wedding day than you and Agent Booth." Brennan was shocked, and she simply gaped at Sweets for several minutes, until he began fidgeting nervously. "If you don't want to, I understand. Wedd—oof!" He had been cut off by a somewhat violent embrace from Brennan, and it had taken him a few seconds to return it._ _"I can't think of anything that would be more of an honor, Sweets."_ That had been that. From that day forward, she had put up with the jokes from Angela, Hodgins, Cam, and even the interns about being the back-up Best Man, along with performing all the requisite duties.

Booth was deep in training almost as soon as he arrived, but he sent regular emails to Brennan.

One, early on in his tenure:

_Sometimes I worry about what is going to happen to these young men that I'm training. Will they make through their battles? How many of them are going to be casualties? I'm not naïve enough to think that of the hundred or so here, none will die as soldiers. Even if they do make it, will they ever be the same afterwards? Will they blame me for teaching them to be monsters. _

She had written back immediately:

_You could never teach someone to be a monster, Booth. They are lucky to have a teacher that cares about them so deeply as people, and not potential weapons. Teach them the things you know outside the class—make them the kind of man you are, and you can never be to blame._

Emails like that one always restored his hope a little more, and his colleagues noticed the change in his mood when he got them.

Others dealt with more everyday concerns and worries, though not necessarily any less heartwrenching:

_It kills me that I'm missing Parker's birthday. Are you still seeing him? If you are, give him a huge hug and a kiss from me. Tell him that I love him, and I'll be home before he knows it._

She responded

_I am still seeing Parker regularly. He invited me to his birthday party, and I followed your instructions to the V. He was very pleased. _

An email a few days later had a response buried near the bottom:

_Bren—I think you meant "to the T" not the V._

She could hear his chuckle from all the miles away, and it comforted her that some things would never change.

More serious matters took up some space, but they tried not to dwell:

_I hope you're making progress on your goals. Every day, I try to steel myself for a letdown, but when I open my inbox and see a message from you, I can't help but hope._ _Booth—I'm getting there. I still can't make you any promises, but I also can't quash your hope. Please, be patient with me. _They went on that way for months. Booth continued his training, and Brennan continued her work. She made trips to see her family, and went out with friends. Portions of her weekends were spent with a child that reminded her so much of Booth that sometimes it hurt.

Rebecca had cornered her one evening when she had returned Parker asleep, after a long day at the museum. Rebecca's fiancé carried Parker to his bed, and when Brennan returned to the house with his things, she found Rebecca with a fierce, but kind look on her face.

"_Don't hurt him," she'd said, and Brennan was taken aback._

"_Rebecca, I could never hurt Parker," she'd replied, slightly confused and affronted._

"_Yes, you can. Just, think very carefully about Seeley, and what is going to happen when he gets back. Because Parker loves you so much, and I know you love him—and Seeley. Just, don't break their hearts. Either of them." Rebecca hadn't been threatening, just protecting those she cared about, and Brennan considered her words carefully._

"_Rebecca, I don't know what's going to happen when Booth gets back, and I can't promise that I won't hurt him. But I can promise you that for as long as you let me, I will spend time with your son, regardless of how I feel about his father." Rebecca's face softened, and she smiled._

"_Seeley always did have pretty good taste. Good night, Dr. Brennan."_

The two women had come to an understanding after that, and Rebecca knew how much Brennan cared for Parker.

So life continued, with the deadline for a great change lurking closer and closer.

* * *

"All truth passes through three stages. First, it is ridiculed. Second, it is violently opposed. Third, it is accepted as being self- evident."  
- Arthur Schopenhauer

* * *

Booth felt anxious as his plane taxied down the runway. He was bone tired from months of hard work without a rest, and he was a little heart-sore for the knowledge that he'd had to pass on. But he was grateful to be home—and terrified of what was waiting for him in the terminal.

A week before, he'd begged Brennan for something, hoping that she'd give him an answer before his arrival, but he hadn't heard back from her. Perhaps she'd decided it wasn't worth it, and she just wanted to spare him the misery of having to read it. Maybe she just didn't think it was worth the time to discuss it. Maybe she had met someone else, and put all that new knowledge on love to use with him, but didn't know how to tell him. Her emails had been shorter and had a different tone lately, but he couldn't figure out what was different. It worried him, but deep down there was a thought that he simply couldn't banish that she hadn't told him _no._ Booth knew that Brennan didn't enjoy hurting anyone, but especially him, and that she wouldn't have procrastinated telling him after he asked her to give him time and space for a rejection. So there was the question—did the lack of information equal a yes? God, he hoped so. Booth was fidgeting all during disembarkation, and was rushing through the crowds as fast as he could, and when he turned the corner to see the large crowd waiting for their loved ones, he thought his heart might stop.

There, standing with her hands on the shoulders of a young, blonde boy wearing a huge grin and bearing a sign that said "Welcome Home Daddy!" in uneven but lovingly printed letters, was the woman that he loved—he hadn't realized that there was such an ache in him from not seeing her until it went away. Before he could really analyze how she looked, and what she might be waiting to tell him, she bent and pointed him out to Parker. Before he knew it, the boy barreled into his legs, and he crouched to bury his face in the hair that Rebecca always kept just a little too long, just breathing him in. He looked up to see Brennan approaching them, and for the first time, noticed the squints, Rebecca and her fiancé, and a few friends from the Bureau waiting behind her. He scooped Parker up in his arms with something of a grunt, and Parker rolled his eyes.

"Dad, I'm almost 10 now. I'm too big to carry anymore."

"Not today you aren't." Booth laughed as he ruffled the boy's hair, but put him down anyway. He met Brennan's eyes, and they began to communicate silently, their ability to do so not at all hindered by the time or distance apart. Looking between the two of them, Parker made a decision.

"Dad, Bones, I'm going to go wait with Mom, okay?" They both looked down at him.

"Oh, of course. I'm sorry, buddy. I'm a little out of it right now. How about I ride in whatever car you're in on the way home, and we can catch up then, okay?"

"Sure, Dad." Parker started to walk away, but at the last minute rushed back at his father for another hug, and the two embraced for a few more minutes. Eventually, he went back to Rebecca, and the whole group continued to watch Booth and Brennan.

"Hi," Brennan whispered, the ghost of a smile curving across her mouth, and the light in her eyes giving Booth more hope than he thought he had any right to.

"Hey." He responded equally quietly, and without thinking, he reached up to brush her cheek with his hand, hope flaring even brighter in his chest when she leaned infinitesimally into his touch, her eyes closing on an exhale.

"There are a lot of people that want to see you right now. We'll talk tonight, okay?" Booth felt a little apprehension at her words, but soon realized that their great reunion or parting would be very awkward with all of their closest friends and some family watching. He nodded, and casually threw his arm around her shoulders, just like he always had, and they headed over to the small crowd for greetings, and hugs, and the general revelry of a welcoming party.

* * *

"Love is an act of endless forgiveness, a tender look which becomes a habit. "

-Peter Ustinov

* * *

Hours later, after Rebecca had taken Parker home half asleep, whispering a good luck to both Booth and Brennan, and the squints had excused themselves one by one and two by two, knowing that Booth and Brennan needed time alone, the two finally found themselves alone, at Brennan's apartment, drinking beers and sitting in a comfortable silence. Finally, Booth broke the quiet, determined to have his answer, once and for all. "Brennan, I—" "Please, Booth, don't call me that." Her soft request stopped Booth's heart, and then restarted it at a much faster cadence. His next question was careful, cautious, and he was prepared for any number of answers.

"Why? It is your name."

"Booth." She stopped him with just his name, that breathed out syllable telling him so much more than her five-dollar words ever could. It said _you know why_, and _don't play dumb_, and _please help me a little here_, along with scarier, more exhilarating meanings that he didn't quite want to think about yet.

"I have to call you that now. I…I have to. You know that."

"No, Booth you don't. Because I realized that I made a mistake all those months ago. But I also realized that without that mistake, doing this with you might have been a bigger mistake. I had to learn to be me before I could be with you. And I learned that I am the most myself when I'm around you—you let me be everything I want to be. I want this—if you still do." She quieted, staring at Booth, waiting for his response.

It came on a heated breath, her name—her real name to him—sweeping over both of them like some healing wind.

"_Bones._ I love you, and I always will." He leaned forward, the urge to kiss her strong, but not overwhelming, as he knew he would have every chance in the world now. Contact was more important—proving to each other that they were both there. Soon, their posture mirrored the one that had seemed so excruciating at the airport months ago, with their foreheads touching. His hands were gently caressing her arms, shoulders, neck, as he reassured himself that he was really there. When he laced their fingers together, an irrational happiness stole over Brennan, and a smile lit up her whole face. They sat there, heads together on the couch, for what seemed like hours, but was really only minutes. Then, they began talking—about everything they had avoided before, anything that either one was curious about. Before they knew it, they were waking up cuddled together on the couch, her head pillowed on his chest. She rested her chin above his heart, and traced his face with her eyes. Watching his closed eyes, she called his name.

"Booth?" His hummed response was so similar to the one he had vocalized before his departure that she laughed again. "There's something I didn't tell you last night." He opened his eyes a crack, and asked

"What is that?"

"Well, I realize that you probably know this, but I wanted to tell you anyway. I love you."

His smile lit up the darkened room and her world, and soon they were grinning like fools at each other.

It had been more than a year since they broke each others' hearts, and it took a full year's separation, but somehow, they fixed everything, and in that moment, they caught fire and burned.

* * *

"Let us be reckless of our words and worlds,  
And spend them freely as the tree his leaves;  
And give them where the giving is most blest.  
What should we save them for,--a night of frost? . . .  
All lost for nothing, and ourselves a ghost."

"One Star Fell and Another"-Conrad Aiken


End file.
